Chapter 182: Chapter-182

On the other side of the palace, Heena was getting ready, and today she had specifically called for servants to help her dress.

The servants arrived and stopped dead when they saw the dress laid out on the bed.

The System was staring at it in horror.

Even Heena was looking at it with a slight smirk.

The servants’ faces turned toward each other, and in their eyes there was disbelief, disappointment, unknown fear, and complete confusion about what to say.

The System was absolutely dumbfounded, out of his mind with shock.

He slowly turned to look at Heena and said weakly, “Host… are you ’sure’ about this?”

Heena smiled pleasantly. “Of course.”

She looked at the servants and said, “Now let’s get ready. Tie my hair in a high ponytail with this dress.”

One brave servant spoke up hesitantly: “But Your Majesty, wouldn’t long flowing hair look better with this… particular… gown?”

Heena paused, considering. “You know what? Make it a bun instead. A very tight, formal bun.”

The servants were completely dumbfounded.

Heena looked at their expressions and said, “What? What’s with those faces?”

They shook their heads quickly. The maids were professionals, after all. They just nodded and said in unison, “Yes, Your Majesty.”

After twenty minutes of careful preparation, Heena was ready.

The System was literally covering his eyes with his paws. “I can’t look. I cannot witness this.”

And then, because Heena genuinely wanted to make those bastard patriarchs wait—and also because she actually did need rest—she took her time.

She drank tea slowly. Ate a leisurely breakfast. Read through some light correspondence.

A full hour passed before she finally stood and announced, “I suppose I should go meet our guests now.”

She walked toward the reception hall, and when she stood before the guards at the door, their expressions were absolutely ’shocked’. They stammered and said, “Y-Your Majesty has arrived!”

They opened the doors quickly.

Seeing their expressions, Heena just sneered internally and walked through.

The moment she entered, the four patriarchs stood up immediately and bowed.

“We greet Your Majesty!” they said in unison.

Then they looked up.

And their words died in their throats.

Not for any negative reason about Heena herself—she was beautiful, her makeup was flawless, her hair perfectly styled.

The problem was her dress.

Normally, Heena wore elegant suits or refined traditional robes in understated colors—deep crimsons, royal blues, sophisticated blacks.

But today?

Today she was wearing a gown that was completely, entirely, absolutely ’golden’.

Like, metallic gold. Shimmering gold. Gold with silver embroidered lining. Gold with jewelry literally ’integrated into the fabric’—gems sewn directly into the bodice, pearls dangling from the sleeves, diamonds embedded in the collar.

She looked like a walking jewelry box. Like a human chandelier. Like someone had wrapped expensive wallpaper around a person and called it fashion.

It was objectively, technically, a very expensive and well-made dress.

It was also absolutely, horrifyingly, ’hideous’.

The patriarchs stared, unable to form words.

Finally, one of them—Duke Remington, Damien’s father—managed to speak: “Your Majesty, you are… you look…”

“Like a goddess descended from heaven?” Heena supplied helpfully, sitting down on the sofa.

“…Sure,” Duke Remington finished weakly.

Heena looked at them with an innocent smile. “Should we sit down?”

The patriarchs continued staring at the dress, clearly not knowing what to say without being incredibly rude.

The System floated over to Heena and whispered, “Host, you look like wallpaper wrapped around a cylinder.”

Heena glared at him. ’Shut up.’

As she sat down on the large sofa, she discovered something unfortunate: the dress was so stiff with embroidery and jewels that instead of flowing naturally like a normal gown, it ’popped up’ when she sat, creating an awkward bubble effect around her.

Duke Ashford, Lucian’s father, looked at her with concern. “Are you… comfortable, Your Majesty?”

Heena, sitting on literally the largest sofa in the room to accommodate the ridiculous dress, smiled brightly. “Oh yes, very comfortable! So, how are you gentlemen? It’s been so long since we’ve seen each other!”

They exchanged glances. “We are well, Your Majesty.”

Then they looked around the room and Duke Valen—Kieran’s father—asked carefully, “Is the Duchess not joining us?”

Heena raised one eyebrow. “Oh? Are you not happy to see me? And here I thought you would be delighted to meet with your daughter-in-law after such a long time.”

They paused, and now their expressions were turning serious—because these bastards were the male leads’ parents, so of course they weren’t going to be normal or polite.

“It’s not that, Your Majesty,” Duke Valen said stiffly. “We were simply asking.”

Heena looked directly at him and said sweetly, “Well, it was ’me’ who called you here, so of course my aunt wasn’t going to meet with you initially.”

She turned to Duke Remington specifically and added, “Besides, Duke, your wife isn’t even dead yet and you’re already trying to find another woman? How inappropriate.”

It was like a chili pepper had been shoved into his mouth. He sputtered, “Your Majesty! I was simply asking because it was the ’Duchess’ who sent us the summons! We meant nothing by it!”

“Oh, is that so?” Heena said mildly.

At that moment, the door opened and the Duchess entered.

She ’yawned’ as she walked in, and everyone’s jaws dropped.

Because the Duchess—the legendary diplomat, the woman known for her impeccable style and rigid adherence to proper etiquette—was wearing ’pajamas’.

Silk pajamas, yes. Expensive ones. But still clearly sleepwear.

She hadn’t even bothered to get dressed.

Even Heena was surprised. She’d always seen her aunt perfectly put-together, always following proper protocol.

But apparently, for these four men, the Duchess couldn’t even be bothered.

The Duchess looked at the patriarchs and said casually, “Ah, you’re here.”

She walked over and sat beside Heena on the sofa.

Then she looked at her niece and said bluntly, “What the hell are you even wearing? You look like a burrito.”

Everyone in the room was stunned into silence, because they’d all been thinking the same thing but nobody had dared say it.

Heena turned to look at her aunt with exaggerated offense. “What are you saying, Aunt? Don’t I look good?”

The Duchess looked her up and down critically. “Your makeup is good. Your hair is good. But what is this ’nonsense’ of a dress? It doesn’t suit you at all.”

Heena’s expression became coldly satisfied. “How does it not suit me, Aunt? After all, if these dukes’ sons can cheat on the Empress and cause such scandals, how can anything ’I’ do be considered unsuitable?”

The Duchess paused, processed this logic, and then nodded slowly. “Well, that makes sense. You’re right—if they can be that tasteless, you can wear whatever ridiculous thing you want.”

She turned to look at the four patriarchs and said pleasantly, “So gentlemen, what do you think of Her Majesty’s fashion choice?”

They were stunned into silence, because they’d initially thought the Empress had gone crazy for dressing like this, but now they understood:

This woman was ’mocking’ them.

Heena pointed at her dress and said clearly, “See this? Just like how I’m sitting here and the dress isn’t sitting right—it’s popping up awkwardly, it’s uncomfortable, it’s not functioning as it should—that’s exactly how your sons have been performing their duties. Badly. Incorrectly. Creating problems instead of solutions.”

The patriarchs’ expressions turned ice-cold.

Duke Valen said stiffly, “Your Majesty, that is quite an ’allegation’.”

Heena looked at him with false innocence. “Allegation? You mean to say that I’m ’falsely blaming’ your children? Duke Valen, have you completely forgotten what your lovely sons have been doing? Or have you gone completely senile in your old age?”

The temperature in the room dropped several degrees.

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